In God's Hands  a New Working Stiff story
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: When Napoleon has a crisis of faith, he goes looking for a little help.  Who better than a Working Stiff?  Religion discussed


I knew at an early age what I wanted to be when I grew up. While other little boys my age were out playing cowboys and Indians or Buck Rogers, I was sitting quietly, reading my Bible. From my earliest recollection, I was fascinated, drawn in by it and the words printed there. I talked for length with our minister, participated as much as possible in activities at our church. I just knew this was my calling.

It seemed a given to head to Seminary. I was halfway through my second year when my number came up with the draft and I was inducted. I was commissioned as a chaplain even though I'd only finished two of the four years needed. It took me to some of the most God forsaken parts of the war zone and while I saw tremendous suffering, I also witnessed incredible heroism, true generosity of spirit and the triumph of man in the worst of times.

And, I confess, it was addictive. Returning home, I had to come to terms with that. I wanted that incredible high I got from watching men triumphant over life's seemingly harsh and callous attitude. After finishing school, I eventually found my place with UNCLE, which gave me the chance to once again feed my addiction for true heroism.

It would seem strange, would it not, that I could find such contentment of soul at an organization whose business it is to police the world and ensure peace at all cost? If possible, there was even more heroismt as these young men and women were here because they chose to be. They weren't drafted, they weren't forced, they willingly joined. And some, equally willingly, agreed to surrender their life for the cause.

Most people don't even think about the spiritual side of our organization, but it is there. There is a priest, a rabbi, even a monk or two, all here to serve our fellow employees.

We have a small chapel that we all share on a rotating basis. There we will hold an occasional service for those men and women who fall but have no one outside of the organization to mourn their passing. Or we will offer comfort to those in need.

I was going about some of my daily tasks when I realized there was someone sitting in the chapel. The lighting was dim, indirect. We eschewed overhead fluorescent lights for something more subtle. People often seek out the solace that our small place of worship offers, but this man was a stranger to me.

As I approached, my footsteps scuffed slightly and the man was all attention. That told me he was an enforcement agent, either Section Two or Three. None of our other co-workers were so attuned to the world around them. I drew near, studying the man's profile. He seemed familiar and yet not.

"Can I help you, son?" I kept my voice soft and calming. When an agent appeared in our chapel, it was usually due to a limited number of things, either his partner was seriously injured or had been killed, or he was having a conflict of spirit or faith.

I studied the dark eyes staring back at me. They were so full of pain and regret, so sad… My heart cried out to this young man; I could only guess at what burden had driven him to me, but God had sent him and it was my job to help him.

My natural instinct would be to place a hand on his shoulder or arm, but we are taught never to touch an agent unless invited or until we seek permission. These young people, they are trained to react, then consider the situation.

"Why am I so selfish, Father?" I didn't want to point out that I wasn't Catholic. It didn't matter, of course, as we are all here for the same reason and serve the same God.

"Why do you think yourself selfish?" Enforcement agents, the good ones, they surrender everything in the name of UNCLE, the right to a normal life, a family, even their own life; agents are some of the least selfish among us, at least to my way of thinking.

"My partner is dying because of my selfishness." I nodded in acknowledgement. "I was too distracted, too involved to notice. I sent him into harm's way because of…" His voice choked then and I couldn't help myself. I placed a hand upon his sleeve, feeling the trembling running through it.

It had taken me a while to place him, but I eventually had - UNCLE's very own CEA, Napoleon Solo. I knew of him. We all did, heard the stories that surrounded the man and the tall tales that eventually cropped up. That meant it was his Russian partner he was worried about and their friendship was practically legendary. I could not imagine him putting Kuryakin in harm's way.

"Tell me what happened."

"We were just messing around," Solo said, his eyes down on his hands. "He wasn't feeling well and I knew he was tired, but he gets in these… well, these moods at times and I thought I could jostle him out of it."

"And?"

"I sucker punched him and he went down. I swear I didn't know THRUSH… If I had, I never would have… Worse, he tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen. I had come out on top this time, had to prove I was top dog." The voice trailed off and I watched his face work for a minute. "If I hadn't been so selfish and just paid attention to him for a minute instead of doing what I wanted…"

"You weren't being selfish, Mr. Solo," I said, still as calmly as I could. His mood, his self imposed anger literally colored the air. "Do you truly believe that God would be so unkind?"

"After some of the stuff I've witnessed… some of the stuff I've seen being done in His name? Yes."

"You don't believe that, son."

"Yes, Father, I do, I really and honestly do. Why would an all loving God permit some of the things I've witnessed?"

"It's His way of testing your spirit. We live in an imperfect world, Mr. Solo. Perhaps the Lord placed you where you were and showed you those things for a reason. Perhaps it is to make you more compassionate, more understanding, and more forgiving."

"At the cost of my partner's life? I don't think so."

"Did you stop to think that perhaps you were acting as His vessel?"

"What? God wanted to smite Illya? He's a Soviet, but he's not evil."

"No, rather that God knew this would happen and used you to save him." I pressed his shoulder back, so that he settled into the pew. "Had you not engaged in the roughhousing, what would you have done?"

"I probably would have gone out, found a date…" He trailed off and I knew where his mind was going. I was a Man of God, but I still was human and understood the need to connect with another obliging soul from time to time.

"Leaving your partner alone?"

"Yes, he said he was tired and wanted to go to bed."

"Had he done that and this… exactly what happened, Mr. Solo?"

"His spleen might have ruptured… According to the doc, it already had a small tear in it from his stay with THRUSH. If he'd taken it really easy, it might have healed on its own."

"Had it ruptured when he was alone, what would have happened?"

"Ah, you get disoriented, usually pass out and then bleed out."

"Had the evening progressed as usual, what would your next assignment have been?"

"I was due to stay here. Illya was shipping out to Taiwan early. The Old Man… Mr. Waverly was on the trail of some plutonium hijackers and he was sending Illya in because of his background."

"Had he been on a plane when this happened?"

"He'd have been dead before it landed."

"How about if he'd stayed in?"

"It would have probably ruptured at some point during the night, according to the surgeons. No one would have followed up with him until he missed his routine check in."

"By which time he'd have mostly likely passed away. Are you starting to see what I am suggesting, Mr. Solo? That you needed to follow your course of action so that your partner's life would be saved? It might not have been the most efficient path to follow, but we shouldn't question God's choices."

I heard a noise then and looked up to see a young woman enter. She was wearing a nurse's uniform and I could tell from the way she moved that it was Nellie, one of my good and valued friends. She saw me and then Mr. Solo.

"Napoleon?" It's interesting how being in a House of God makes one naturally speak more softly. His head swiveled in her direction and I saw a cascade of emotions pour across it. She sat and reached out, taking his hand.

"Illya?"

"He's out of surgery… he lost his spleen…"

"What does that mean?"

"He'll be more prone to infections and will need routine checkups and shots, but it shouldn't affect his field status. A couple of weeks and all he'll have to show for his efforts is one more scar to add to his collection."

"Thank God."

"Considering where we are, I think we should." I murmured and was rewarded with a smile from a very relieved agent.

A few weeks later, I was watering a fern in my office when there was a knock at my door. It isn't odd for people seek me out, but I had to admit great surprise when I saw who was standing there.

I'd never met Mr. Kuryakin before, things being what they are; we are on opposite ends of the religious spectrum. He wasn't a large man, rather small for what I would consider a man of his reputation. From the stories, he always seemed much larger, more commanding.

"May I come in?" He hesitated at the door, again, a natural reaction to a man in my position.

"Of course." I set the watering can down and gestured to a nearby chair. I watched him move out of the corner of my eye, but his actions were smooth, no sign of his most recent brush with death. "What can I do for you, Mr. Kuryakin? I rather doubt you are here for spiritual guidance."

He grinned and shook his head. "No, I'm very well planted in the opposing viewpoint. I just wanted to thank you."

"Thank me? For what?"

"Napoleon… you gave him peace when he needed it the most. He tends to take things to heart. It's simultaneously his strongest and weakest point. He will feel tremendous guilt for things that happen, often without cause or direct relation to him."

"He told you about our little talk?"

"And that he was destined to save my life by rupturing my spleen. I asked him to avoid such life-saving tactics in the future." That grin again. "But you helped give him peace of mind and for that I thank you."

"And you? Don't you ever wonder? Just a little bit?"

He shook his head slowly. "My grandmother was devout Orthodox. Even at a time when it was considered a crime punishable by death, she practiced and she believed. And for her belief, I watched her die in the snow outside Kiev at the hands of a German soldier, as she prayed for mercy from an uncaring God. No, thank you, Reverend, I don't wonder… ever." He stood, started to leave, and then he turned slightly. "But I do thank you in the name of those who do and for the comfort you give them."

I sat quietly for a long moment, reflecting upon his softly-spoken words. There was no anger, no hostility in them, just calm and quiet acceptance. I knew that his mind was firmly made up and that made me very sad. And even though he would have protested, I prayed for him, for the lonely and solitary path he'd chosen or rather been forced to choose as a little boy.

That day, at lunch, I saw the two of them and I realized that perhaps his path wasn't as lonely or solitary as I'd thought. Perhaps that was how God made it up to Mr. Kuryakin, by sending him someone who could connect and help restore his faith, if not in God, then at least in his fellow man. And though I am a Man of God, I would never try to second guess His will or His plan, for that would be arrogant and impossible. Instead, I simply watch and wait and do the best I can to help these brave souls find their peace in whatever form it takes.


End file.
